


Kaleidoscopic

by Shadowblayze



Series: Whimsy 'Verse [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-14
Updated: 2016-03-14
Packaged: 2018-05-26 17:46:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6249508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadowblayze/pseuds/Shadowblayze
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>‘Different strokes for different folks’ is the saying, but in reality those who do not conform to the norm are shunned and reviled.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kaleidoscopic

**Author's Note:**

> So, this was the original setup for what eventually became the Fragment 'Silence of the Fall'. 
> 
> I kind of like the darker, more realistic-to me- tone to this, but I hesitated in making it yet another HP/KHR crossover.
> 
> The basic idea was that Harry is sort of intuitive and cynical. towards that end he finds like-minded people who want to throw off their various burdens- family reputation, etc- and they plot on a way out from under the thumb of 'the man'.
> 
> Blargh.

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It had taken one to know another.  Birds of a feather flocking together, banding together to fight the encroaching tide of expectation and responsibility.

For you see, only those who were gifted with magic- that is, a supernatural or prenatural force that could be manipulated by a person,[most controllably via a pre-prepared focus] to accomplish otherwise ‘impossible’ or ‘preposterous’ tasks- were allowed to cross into this hidden sanctum where our story could feasibly be said to ‘start’.  

(Though in truth it started far before then in decisions, actions, and inactions that were taken by those who came before.)

A train- a rather long one composed of at least eleven passenger cars- which looks to have been constructed sometime in the late nineteenth century with its elegant smoke stacks and antique design sits on old-fashioned, but meticulously-maintained tracks behind a special barrier that granted access to only those with specific talents. 

The late summer morning is muggy and the thick air is unappreciated even as it is breathed in by the denizens of the London station.  The issue of cloying mugginess is exacerbated by the copious amount of steam being emitted from the engine of the train.  The platform itself is composed of warm bricks of varying tones of red, while the opposite side of the train shows the lush countryside decked in all the shades of summer’s glory.  There are taller than normal fireplaces on this platform, made for the specific purpose of them being traveling ports as opposed to functional heating items. 

As time crawls forward towards the midday hour more people emerge from the barrier and the population of this secretive platform swells.  The number of people milling about the platform grows, and so does the noise level.  Excited murmurs can be heard by the occupants of the brilliantly colored steam engine train. 

The people are mostly dressed in clothes made of wool, but there are those among them that prefer silk or other exocentric textiles.  The minority of them are decked out in various shades of trendy ealy-1990s-fashion from the ‘other world’, and most of those dressed in flowing cloaks and elegant dresses curl a lip in distaste or raise disapproving eyebrow at them.  Those of the minority who have no friends to stand with- the loners who drift at the edges of a society that _does not want them_ but _needs_ them- quickly board the train and slip on their own flowing cloaks to obscure that which brings upon them condescension or shame.

Inside the train, the passenger cars are divided into compartments. There are eight compartments per car, with a loo at the end.  The first car is for the Engineer and his assistants, while the final car- the Caboose- is the Conductor’s domain.  The next car up from the Caboose is for luggage, along with two concurrent compartments in the middle.  The car just past the Engineer and the technicians is for the advising faculty member(s), and the car past that is for dining.  The next car is reserved for the Prefects, students appointed to patrol the train and manage disputes.  The reason for the adjutant cars in the middle is due to the magic grafted into the train.  As more come aboard the train the magic counts them and as the numbers climb the train adds cars between the two, formerly, adjutant luggage compartments to compensate. 

Magic allows for the train to always seem exactly the same length from the outside, while manipulating the space to those who are inside it.  Magic is also the answer as to how any student- even a Prefect- could open the door from the dining car to the next and be in the Engineer’s cabin, while the Head Boy or Head Girl- as long as they were wearing their badge- could open the same door and step through to the advising faculty member’s car.  Magic is also how the eight individual compartments could be as large and comfortable as they are and still fit into the car, when each compartment would otherwise take up well-over half of the car otherwise.

Yes, the vivid crimson steam engine train with the brilliant gold ‘Hogwarts Express’ emblazoned onto the side was a masterpiece of magic to behold and an excellent reinforcement of what magic was capable of.  Of course, that was half of the point for having the train in the first place, as magical travel could change the nearly day-long journey to Scotland to one of mere moments.  However the train was a served as a shining paragon of what magic was capable of, and was meant to subliminally entice the students to learn so that one day they, too, could do such things with their wonderful power known as magic.  There was also the benefit of allowing the students time to socialize past their usual social circles- for those who had grown up in the somewhat inter-bred and relatively small magical world- and for those students who were new to magic- those who had had their worlds shattered and rearranged during a short summer visit after living in fear of the unexplainable things that happened around them for a decade- a chance to acclimate themselves and further perpetuate the idea of magic being _wonderful_ to them before the true reality of the situation settled in.

Because having magic did not make the people better.  Actually, it could be argued that in some ways magic made them more susceptible to corruption.  Not everyone, of course, but until a hundred years or so ago the magicals had been not just a different type of people, but also a far more advanced race than their non-magical brethren- and had been for millennia.  While the nonmagical man was slaving away to survive another day only to spend his nights sleeping on a dirtied floor strewn with pestilence and wallowing in filth, while largely being unable to read and write.  The magical populations had had clean living spaces, an established healthcare system, and an excess of food, and education offered even to their poorest community members.  Centuries of the different standards of living, coupled by the festering rage from the witch hunts, Inquisitions, and other religious movements, (it had not been just the Christians who had tried to kill them off, after all), the magical populations had become secure in their superiority. 

An opinion that was reinforced by the effects they saw the copious amount of violence the nonmagical world constantly seemed embroiled in on their ‘muggle borns’.  That was not to say that the magicals did not have their own conflicts as well, of course.  However, while the conflicts were decidedly unpleasant, it had been nearly unheard of for an up-and-coming dictator to cull many magicals until the likes of Grindelwald and Lord Voldemort came into power.  The reason being, was that the steadily-holding but-not-really-expanding magical population could not sustain heavy losses as the nonmagicals did, and in that spirit most of those who wished to rule the magical world chose to blackmail, torture, and subjugate as opposed to kill. 

There were exceptions to these circumstances, of course, but mostly the magical world was content in their advances and at some point chose to look more towards the past than the present, causing most of their societies to stagnate.  So the centuries slipped by and slowly the magical people became drunk on their own self-importance and sanctimonious sense of power and right-to-rule.

Which brings us back to the minority and the reality that their prospects in the British magical community were to either be breeding stock- a term which could be applied to both males and females- or low-level workers who were paid just enough to survive, but not live. 

The occasional few would marry well or come up with a great invention that would be backed by a ‘proper’ family and therefore be sucessful, but most would spend five years being educated enough to not endanger the Statute of Secrecy before deciding to return to the first world they never belonged in and struggle to carve out a life from there.  The Ministry for Magic was largely unsympathetic to their plight, as the five years’ worth of education the Ministry provided the students to teach them control of their magic in order to preserve the sanctity of the magical world was an even trade, in the Ministry’s opinion.  They had no concern for the children whose lives were nearly irreparably disrupted, those children were not ‘their kind’, after all.   

Sadly, only the truly sharp quit after the OWLs in their Fifth Year, however, the majority graduated from Hogwarts and _then_ discovered the ugly truth about their options.

Some would have enough means to migrate, as countries who had suffered major losses during the tumult that defined the early twentieth century were more sympathetic towards their plights, as the magical communities had also been deeply affected by the wars that had been waged across their lands. But by and large the magical areas of Britain and Ireland had escaped the phenomena and thus Hogwarts graduated roughly seventy ‘muggle borns’ a year.

Less than half of them would reach twenty five without being in prison- magical or nonmagical- or being in an unscrupulous profession, but the majority would end up in a graveyard.

Therefore, the ‘Hogwarts Express’ served as a beautiful smokescreen, a first in a series of gilded vines that would tightly weave a web around the innocents souls until the day came that the vines turned to iron and the little birds realized that their magical haven was in fact, nothing more than a attractive prison.

―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―

Harry’s mouth twisted up into a bitter parody of a smile as he thought about his new ‘magical’ world.  The scruffily dressed boy with bright green eyes, hideous glasses, and bruises on his back let out a soft derisive snort.  He scuffed  his tattered shoe against the floor of the opulent train compartment and tried to dredge up some excitement for his new prison.

And that was exactly what he thought of this new world as.

It was a world that had been saved by his parents’ sacrifice which had turned around and dumped him off onto the Durselys until he had been needed again.

Harry did not have training in psychology, but he had _always_ had a keen eye and an intuitive grasp on how to read people.  It was probably helped by the amount of time he had had to practice while acting as the Dursley’s servant boy, but this situation had his gut in _knots_.  He wanted out- so far out that they could never find him or bring him back.  Harry wanted them to forget he existed.   He owed these people _nothing_ and _no one_ could tell him otherwise.

If they wanted him to be their hero they should have saved him when he needed them.

However, one thing that magic always seemed to be capable of was mind reading, so Harry was going to do his level best to not so much as think that way once he arrived at school.  Harry knew that because Dudley watched magic movies on Thursdays- when Aunt Petunia met with her Bridge Club at Mrs. Number Seven’s and Uncle Vernon went golfing with his company friends- and Dudley let Harry watch as long as he did Dudley’s worksheets.  Contrary to popular belief the cousins had a rather mutually beneficial relationship going on, because Harry was good at reading people and Dudley was not nearly as stupid as he played at being.

The door slid open and a boy with bright red hair poked his head inside, and just behind him was a boy who looked remarkably similar to him only taller and a bit more mature with a red badge on his chest.  However it was not his hair color or his clothes or even the smudge of dirt on the younger’s boys nose that caught Harry’s attention- it was the elder boy’s eyes.  Specifically the _look_ in his eyes.

Harry’s lips expanded into a sharp smile as the younger boy continued babbling obliviously and the elder boy leveled Harry with a heavy stare before his own lips curled in an answering, predatory smile.

(And so the story begins.)

―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―

“Is everything ready?”  Harry spoke into the telephone receiver, toying with the phone cord as he waited to receive an answer.

“Everything is properly in place, Harry dear.”  The voice on the other end teased him lightly.

Harry rolled his eyes.  “Are you-“

“ _Harry Potter if you do not stop second-guessing me there will be consequences!_ ”  Another voice shouted in the background.

The person holding the phone laughed lightly before speaking seriously.  “Midnight.”

“I’ll be ready.”  Harry spoke softly, seeing Dudley signal that the elder Dursleys had arrived.  “I have to go.”

“Midnight.”  The voice repeated again. “Be ready.”

Harry hung up the phone without responding, but the smile on his face was probably best kept from the elder Dursleys.  Harry threw a quick nod of thanks to his cousin and scurried up the stairs just as the front door began to open.

‘ _Midnight_.’  He thought excitedly as he whispered something to Hedwig before he let her out of the window, quickly covering up her cage in case one of the elder Dursleys looked in.  Harry looked around the cluttered, sparsely furnished room that had been his for nearly three years and he had the inane urge to break down laughing- or crying, really, it could go either way.

―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―


End file.
